Watch us Run
by trekkie'227
Summary: Post-episodes and missing scenes from seasons 7-9 featuring The Doctor caring for Clara physically and emotionally and vice versa. There will be lots of warm and fuzziness and plenty of wumping. Ratings from K-T. Most recent story: Magician's Apprentice: The Doctor's thoughts as he watches The Dalek's "kill" Clara.
1. Bells of Saint John

**Hello all! I have been dealing with the impending departure of Jenna Coleman by writing some additions to my favorite Clara/Doctor scenes; if there is a particular scene you would like let me know! I'm mainly focusing on hurt/comfort wump type things. For this fic, I am planning on sticking to post-episodes/missing scenes and cannon relationships, but if there are other things you would like to see I could add a different story for them. Enjoy!**

 **Summary: What happens between Clara passing out and waking up in her bed.**

* * *

The Bells of Saint John

The Doctor's hearts clenched simultaneously in relief as Clara took in a desperate, wheezing breath. He impulsively lifted the small woman's shoulders off the ground, gently pressing their foreheads together. "You're fine, you're back," he breathed, running his fingers through her glossy hair. "Yes you are, oh yes you are." He punctured his fragmented statements with a gentle kiss to her forehead. He had found her – the impossible girl – and she was going to be okay.

The Doctor pulled her small body into his lap and continued to graze his fingers across her head. He was determined to keep her safe. She had died twice before and it was all his fault. Now it was his job care for her, to keep her safe. If he had to sit outside her room, fending off rabid Daleks with his screwdriver for eternity to ensure her safety, so be it. He would not lose her again.

Clara's limp body slipped slightly down his knees towards the floor, so he gently lifted her into his arms and allowed her head to roll against his chest with a soft thump. He nudged the walking bay-station out of the way as he ascended the narrow staircase. The metal skeleton clanked loudly as it collapsed and toppled down to the floor below. This strange contraption would need further examination, but that could wait. The young woman in his arms was his first priority.

The low doorway to Clara's attic room proved to be a bit of a challenge. The Doctor cautiously maneuvered himself through it sideways, holding Clara as close as he could to prevent her from bashing against the wall. Once inside, he put her down on the pastel carpet – careful to cushion her head – then turned to pull down the covers on her bed. He placed his charge on the thick mattress and pulled the fleece blanket up to her shoulders.

Clara sighed contentedly and turned to her side but did not wake up. It was probably a good thing, the Doctor decided, since getting your life force sucked into a mysterious database would be exhausting. He should probably let her rest for a bit. He should probably turn and walk down stairs. Right now.

But he couldn't. He couldn't make himself leave, couldn't force his body to obey. Instead he stepped back and watched as a stray brown hair fluttered against her small nose with every breath, reveling in the impossibility of it all. How could she be here? How could such an enigma exist without violating at least 6 universal fourth-dimensional laws of reality? After he had watched the spark of life leave those wide brown eyes? After she had sacrificed herself so that he could live to fight another day?

An angry grumble from his stomach jerked the Doctor out of his daze. One thing that the Monks did not have was good food. They had never even heard of fish fingers _or_ custard! And Clara might be hungry when she woke up; it would be nice to have a snack waiting when she was ready, but not fish fingers and custard. Amy had informed him on many occasions that normal people did not eat them together, though he could never quite understand why. Jammie Dodgers would be nice though. Or a banana; bananas were good.

This new quest broke through the Doctor's brief paralysis. He bent down to place one more kiss in Clara's sweet-smelling hair before exiting the room in search of food.

* * *

 **Thoughts? I know it can be hard to write any criticism, but I would really like to know if there was anything you didn't like. You can be nit-picky as long as it's constructive. I'm almost done with the Journey to the Center of the TARDIS chapter, and I have ideas for a few others. If you have any suggestions, please let me know!**


	2. Cold War

**Summary: The Doctor saves Clara from drowning on the Soviet Sub after it crashes**

Cold War

"I would like a recite please," the Doctor said irritably when one of the crew pulled the sonic screwdriver from his inside pocket.

The captain, seemingly unfazed by the strangely dressed pair, reached for the screwdriver and flicked it in the Doctor's face. "What is this?

The Doctor opened his mouth, a terribly clever retort on the tip of his tongue, but was interrupted as the submarine groaned as slipped against the crumbling crevice walls outside. Clara cried out in surprise, and the Doctor's hearts leapt in fear. "Clara!" he yelled, shaking his dripping bangs from his eyes and twisting around the pole he had been pushed against. "Clara!"

"Doctor!" came her high-pitched reply.

The Doctor jerked his head, desperately searching for his companion, but was distracted by the familiar wheezing sound of his TARDIS. "No!" he yelled. "No no no no no no!" He lunged towards his magnificent blue box, but it was too late. His sexy, wonderful TARDIS was fading before his eyes. They were trapped.

* * *

Clara was thrown against the console and splashed to the floor. Cold salt water stung her eyes and flooded into her nose and mouth. She tried to squint around, find out which direction was up, but everything was so blurry and her head was throbbing. Clara desperately swirled through the water, lungs burning. She saw brief glances of legs and the thick metal grating of the floor, but a green pinprick of light caught her attention, shining through the murk. The sonic! If she could just reach out and grab it…

Clara stretched out her hand, fingertips just brushing against the cool metal casing. But consciousness was fading fast. The light was dimming all around her. It felt as though there was a weight against her chest, pushing at her lungs. She inhaled convulsively and choked on the water. It was so cold that it seemed to burn her throat. The fog surrounding her was penetrating her brain. She closed her eyes and let the grey swallow her whole.

* * *

The Doctor fought against the two crew members attempting to hold him against the pole in the center of the room. "CLARA!" he cried once more, ears desperately straining to hear her reply. But none came. He frantically pulled his slick arms out of the crewmen's grasp and flung himself into the water with a splash.

It only took a few seconds of sweeping his arms around before he found her, drifting face down against the green-grey walls. He slipped his arms under her shoulders and hauled her up. Her eyes remained closed as she coughed, water dribbling down her chin.

The Doctor crouched down, face inches from her own. "Clara?" he asked quietly, brushing her tangled hair from her face and cupping her cheek. She tilted her head slightly into his palm, but remained otherwise unresponsive. She was still gasping at the stale air greedily, desperate to replenish her supply of oxygen.

In that moment, the Doctor didn't care about the possibly armed Russian officers who surrounded them or even his missing TARDIS. He allowed himself to take three deep breaths and focused only on her smooth cheek against his hand and the water droplets dripping from the end of her pony tail.

He turned when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The captain's hard eyes met his. "You have some questions to answer," he stated with authority. He turned and sloshed over to a porthole leading into a dimly lit hallway. The Doctor carefully lifted Clara into his arms and followed.

Their raggedy platoon paused in the narrow corridor. The Doctor gently propped Clara against a support beam. He began to remove his jacket, but paused when a scruffy-looking man with a green hat and headphones hung on his neck held out a uniform jacket for him. He nodded gratefully at the man, who clearly wasn't part of the military crew, and wrapped it around his companion's shoulders.

He knelt in front of her and ran his hands up and down her arms to try and stop the subtle shivers that made her body quake. "Don't worry, I'll figure a way out of this. Always do" He reassured her. She seemed to be waking up; at least, she responded to his touch by squirming slightly and turning her head towards his voice.

The Doctor was about to sit next to her, when he was roughly pulled to his feet. "Who are you and why did you attach us?" The captain demanded, pushing him away from Clara and into the wall a few feet down the corridor. The Doctor glanced back at Clara. He saw with relief that she was indeed waking up, so he turned his attention to the matter at hand. The captain grabbed his shirt and shook, causing the Doctors head to clang painfully against a pipe behind them.

"Oi! Watch it!" the Doctor yelled. He hated soldiers. All he wanted to do was tuck Clara in a nice safe bed and hold her hand until she was fully awake. Clearly, that was not currently an option, so he would have to settle for yelling at these incompetent, volatile humans. They _were_ asking for it.

 **I had a lot of trouble finding a good place to end this one. This is right before Clara wakes up and starts to hear them yelling at each other. Please let me know what you thought!**


	3. Journey to the Center of the TARDIS

**Thank you to the two of you who wrote reviews yesterday! A special thanks to TVH Bookfan for very politely pointing out some spelling errors and making a really good suggestion for a Name of the Doctor story. I'll have to think about how I want to make it work, but I really like the idea.**

 **Summary: The Doctor takes care of Clara's burnt hand**

Journey to the Center of the TARDIS

Clara winced as she ran her right hand under the cool water. The angry red words seared into her palm still stung and some of the burned skin had started to peel away. But that was just part of traveling with the Doctor; things were bound to get a bit rough every once in a while whilst bouncing around time and space in a blue snog box with the most immature 1200-year-old in the universe. Clara sighed, threw her towel over her shoulder, and went to find the mad Time Lord.

The Doctor was throwing himself around the control room with his usual gleeful energy when Clara meandered up to him. He glanced over her wet hair and clean dress with a small grin before returning to the console. "Nice shower?"

"Just because you don't mind being covered in soot doesn't mean the rest of us do," Clara responded defensively with a small smile. "And, by the way, you stink."

"Yes, well," the Doctor replied, pausing mid-way through flicking an impressive-looking leaver, "never mind that now. Do you want another go?"

Clara stared at him in confusion. "You mean you still want me to fly your TARDIS? Even after we almost blew up."

"Completely out of your control," the Doctor reassured her.

"I'm pretty sure it just doesn't like me."

"Don't be ridiculous!" He exclaimed. " _She_ just needs to get to know you. Come on. I promise it's safe now." He whirled back around the console and grabbed her hand to pull her towards the telepathic circuits.

Clara inhaled sharply as soon as the Doctor's strong fingers enclosed her injured right hand, the inflamed skin throbbing in protest. The Doctor immediately let go and turned around with a concerned frown. "Clara, you told me that you were okay."

Clara pulled her hand to her side and avoided the Doctor's accusing gaze. "I _am_ fine Doctor. It will heal in a few days, I promise." She wasn't sure why she was hiding her injured hand from him. Perhaps she wanted to prove her resiliency to the mysterious alien. After all, she was still just a nanny from Earth; he could easily decide that she wasn't cut out for these grand adventures and find someone less breakable to accompany him.

The Doctor took this opportunity to snatch Clara's hand back, gently turning it palm-up and examining the burn. "Clara you should have told me it still hurt," he said softly. "Burns can get infected very easily." She looked down with a guilty shrug. "Come on, I'll find something to put on this." Clara nodded, grateful that he wasn't pushing the matter, and followed him up the spiraling glass staircase to the infirmary above.

The TARDIS infirmary was brightly lit and cheery with a high domed ceiling and metallic-blue walls. Several futuristic-looking beds were scattered about the large open space. Clara had to jump slightly to seat herself on the cream-colored foam mattress whilst the doctor selected a number of items from a wide array of chrome drawers and cabinets at the far wall. She squeezed out the ends of her hair and tossed the towel onto the foot of the bed before the Doctor returned, supplies in hand.

The Doctor sat down next to her and gingerly placed her right hand atop his leg. Clara hissed when her splayed her fingers and the burned skin stretched painfully but otherwise remained silent.

"This will seal in moisture, prevent infection, and excel new skin growth," he explained as he uncapped a tube of pale green gel. Clara winced as he carefully spread the gel over the angry letters, messaging it into her palm. "Very useful stuff. Made on Chimeria from an indigenous plant. To be honest I really shouldn't have access to it but I helped sort out an invasive species problem they were having so-"

"Don't you have a dermal regenerator or something that you can just wave around to fix me?" Clara interrupted with another wince.

"No no no you silly girl!" the Doctor exclaimed in exasperation. "This isn't the Starship Enterprise. Besides, they are far too expensive." Clara rolled her eyes at his typical response. He re-capped the tube and proceeded to wrap her hand in crisp white gauze, which he secured with several pieces of tape. He brought the bandaged limb to his lips and softly kissed the center of her palm before giving her leg a reassuring pat and putting away the rest of the supplies.

Clara yawned widely as she slipped off the bed, flexing her fingers experimentally. There was still some stiffness, but the pain had already faded to a dull ache. The Doctor returned to her side as she let out another yawn. "Sorry, I don't know why I'm so tired," she apologized.

"We've had two days crammed into the space of one," he answered without thinking.

Clara looked over at him, eyebrows drawn together quizzically. "Why do you say that?"

"I dunno," he replied quickly. "I say stuff, ignore me." He looked up at Clara, who clearly wasn't buying any of it. "Right. Let's get you home." He twirled around and bounded back down the stairs, smiling as she let out an irritated sight before following.

* * *

The Doctor watched fondly from the TARDIS door as Clara entered her house. Some day he would unravel the mystery that was Clara Oswin Oswald. But for now, he was content to continue exploring the stars with his impossibly wonderful girl.


	4. Echo Clara Saves 10

**This takes place after the 4** **th** **season episode** _ **Journey's End**_ **and before any of the specials, at least for the Doctor. It is based on an idea given to me by TVH Bookfan. Writing these is very cathartic after this week's episode; I hope they help you as well.**

 **Summary: One of Clara's echos saves the 10th Doctor from a mysterious man in a top hat and he helps heal her injuries afterwards.**

Name of the Doctor:

Echo Clara Saves 10

She didn't understand where the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach came from all of a sudden, but it was reverberating around her entire being and impossible to ignore. Just a minute ago, Clara had been on her way back to her dorm room from class with a title wave of different emotions swirling through her mind. Anxiety about finals, sadness and anger over her break-up, dread about going home for break. But the sight of a sinister man in a black top hat froze all of those thoughts instantaneously. Suddenly none of those very real problems seemed remotely important. Something buried deep in her subconscious was telling her that this man was bad news; not for her but for someone more important.

Clara casually sidled down the narrow side street, leaving the tornado of emotions behind her. She still wasn't quite sure why she was taking this risk. She was alone, it was getting dark, and she was approaching a strange man who gave her the creeps. But it was something she had to do. It was very important that she stop whatever this man was planning.

The man's back was to her; he was watching a narrow stone archway set into the tall brick apartment buildings that lined the street. He seemed to be concentrating hard, waiting for something. Clara inched forward cautiously, keeping her eyes trained on the mysterious man and occasionally glancing over at the archway.

She was only a few feet away when his demeanor suddenly changed. He pulled something out of his jacket pocket; it looked like a gun that had been stolen from the set of a low-budget sifi movie. He leveled the weapon at the archway; Clara watched his finger tighten against the trigger. Without thinking, without knowing why she was doing it, she lunged.

Clara flung herself into the man just as someone in a long brown coat stepped through the archway. The man yelled as his arm was jostled; the shot missed its target by inches, leaving a burn mark in the stone. He wrapped his left arm around Clara's neck and readied for another shot but Clara twisted in his grip and bit down hard on his right thumb. The man howled in pain and frustration, throwing Clara into the brick building behind them. Her head smashed into the wall with an audible crack and she slid to the pavement moaning.

Clara's head spun and the edges of her vison were clouding over. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes and pushed her hand against the wall in an attempt to rise to her feet. She had to keep fighting, she had to stop him. The two men were shouting at each other and a high-pitched whining buzz emanating from a blue pinprick of light reverberated around her skull. She had to help!

But Clara barely managed to place one foot against the ground before the whole alley spun and threw her back down. Her head throbbed with every heartbeat and she could feel her dinner trying to makes its way up from her stomach. She was pretty sure the warmth trickling down the back of her neck was blood and she could feel tears in her eyes.

Clara was concentrating on keeping the food in her stomach when a figure suddenly crouched down in front of her, his face swimming in and out of view. She immediately tried to back away but couldn't quite remember how to use her limbs. But this wasn't the man in the top hat. This man had wild, gravity defying hair. Clara knew that he wouldn't hurt her; she didn't know how, she just knew. She tried to look up into his eyes but the slight movement of her head was more than her poor stomach could take. She fell forward, scraping her hands against the rough pavement, and vomited on the man's Converse'.

The man put a comforting hand on her back, rubbing slow circles across her shoulder blades. She knew he would make everything okay again, so she closed her eyes and allowed the swirling darkness to take over.

* * *

The Doctor lunged forward and caught the young woman before she could face-plant into the pool of stomach acid. He lifted her away from the mess and propped her up against the wall. Then he removed his coat and wrapped it around her shivering body. Now that he could see her face up close, he realized how young she really was; probably still a teenager, 20 at the most. Just like Rose had been. She had also thrown herself headfirst into danger to help him and she too had suffered the consequences.

The thought of his former companion sent a guilty twinge scurrying through his stomach. She had been hurt too, because of him. He couldn't fix that now, but he could help the girl lying in front of him. She had come out of nowhere and saved his life, attacking the mysterious top-hat man without a second thought. Why? He didn't even know her.

These questions would have to wait, however. This girl needed help. The Doctor brushed his hand through her dark hair, feeling a warm sticky patch near the back. He pulled his hand away, inspecting the red liquid smeared across his fingers. He quickly retrieved his sonic screwdriver and waved it over his savior's head. "Severe concussion, laceration, _fractured skull_ ," he muttered under his breath.

He had to do something to help; he owed her. But the less she knew about him the better. If the assassin – or whomever he was – thought that they were connected, he could use her to get to him. And hanging around the Doctor was dangerous. Everyone who cared for him, everyone he cared for would be lost eventually, one way or another. Still, he could patch her up in the TARDIS infirmary and send her home to recover. Mind made up, the Doctor lifted her small body into his strong arms and carried her away.

* * *

Clara opened her eyes dazedly and looked around. Her small, familiar dorm room was bathed in the pale glow of the rising sun. But she couldn't remember getting into bed last night. Had she been up late working on a paper? Had she slipped and hit her head? Everything about yesterday was extremely fuzzy.

Clara propped herself up against her pillows and groaned, massaging the back of her head. Thank god today was Saturday; she definitely was not getting out of bed any time soon. A crisp white envelope caught her attention. It was placed on the corner of her dresser within arm's reach. Clara opened the note with trembling fingers, wondering how it got there.

 _Clara,_

 _You fell yesterday while helping me out of a tight spot. I fixed your head, but you'll probably have a headache and some memory loss. Perfectly normal; nothing to worry about. If you're ever in trouble, real trouble I mean not just argument-with-your-mum-trouble, call out. I'll return the favor. Oh, and I hope you like chocolate-chip cookies._

 _The Doctor_

Clara smiled as she put down the note, noticing the paper plate on her desk for the first time. It was piled high with what looked like large, home-made cookies. She didn't know why, but she believed every word this Doctor had written. She knew that she didn't have to worry about whatever had happened, and she knew that if she needed him, he would be there for her. For some reason, she knew that he would always be there.

 **Thank you to everyone who has left such kind, encouraging reviews over the past few days! If you keep it up so will I!**

 **Strikingtwelve** **: thank you for your ideas! I am moving in a sort-of chronological order at the moment, but that may change soon. I will get to at least some of your suggestions; I already have ideas about a few of them.**


	5. Nightmare in Silver

**Summary: The Doctor is angry with himself for putting the children in danger and Clara reassures him.**

* * *

Nightmare in Silver

The TARDIS was significantly quieter after the children scampered out her door. The only noise was the subtle whirring of the engines and Clara's soft breaths. The Doctor leaned against the central control panel wearily and studied the glass floor beneath him guiltily, unwilling to meet his companion's large brown eyes. He had come so close to losing control of his own body, and Clara had come so close to losing the children. Putting his life on the line was one thing, but the kids' – that was something else entirely.

He couldn't stop thinking about the Cyber-planner. The feeling of power and blood-lust had awoken memories of the Time War, memories that he had been running from for hundreds of years. The rage he had felt, the need to destroy, was still a part of him. And that meant that the people around him would always be in danger; Clara would always be in danger. She had already died twice for him. Would it happen again?

Clara's shadow joined his when she flopped next to him but he still refused to look up. "Thank you," she said with a playful nudge to the Doctor's shoulder.

"For what?" he asked sharply.

"Kids day out. Getting us off the planet alive. Whatever you were doing with that Cyberman." She replied.

"Seriously?" The Doctor inquired incredulously.

"Of course," she answered. "Fighting against yourself can't have been easy. And the kids had a great time."

"But I put them in danger Clara," he protested. "They were nearly 'upgraded.' And I nearly lost to the Cyber-planner."

"We have close calls every trip Doctor," Clara reassured him. "I knew that when I said they could come with us. They are _my_ responsibility. Not yours. What's this really about?"

"He shouldn't have been able to take over so easily!" the Doctor exclaimed. "It was like he was part of me Clara. What if he still is? What if he comes back and tries to upgrade the entire galaxy. Or you," he added quietly.

Clara stepped forward so that she was directly in front of him and gripped his chin with her small hand, forcing him to look at her. His eyes were serious and he had a small frown. The look did not suit the usually playful Time Lord. "I told you this before Doctor, but I'll say it again. I trust you. I feel safe with you. Doesn't matter if we're here on Earth or being hunted by a Martian war general. I know that you will always protect me. That I will always feel safe with you."

The Doctor opened his mouth to counter this statement but Clara pressed a slender finger to his pale lips and continued. "And you are nothing like the Cyber-planner. Whatever was going on inside your head, whatever he made you think, it doesn't matter. You beat him and that's what counts. You beat him to keep me safe." She glared defiantly up at him, daring him to argue.

"If he had hurt you, I would have blown up the planet without a second thought," The Doctor confessed.

"I don't believe that Doctor," Clara scolded, "because you would've never let him hurt me. And you do so much good every day. You bounce around the universe saving people. It's what you do. I don't care about anything you did in the past. I care about the man you are now. You try to be a good man and that's what counts."

The Doctor nodded complacently, though he didn't quite believe her. Clara must have been able to read the doubt in his face however, because she stood up on her tip-toes and wrapped her arms around his chest. He immediately reciprocated and she snuggled into his warmth. He pressed his lips gently into the top of her hair and held her close, enjoying the comforting weight of her body against his.

After a minute Clara pulled away. "I have to get going. Before Angie gets any ideas about what we're doing in here alone."

The Doctor spluttered indigently. "I would never, she… Ew!" He stuttered. Clara smirked at him and he blushed back at her. The somber mood melted away as he gazed into her beautifully sunny smile and admired the way her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. His impossible girl always knew just what to say.

"Don't you dare go sulk up on a cloud alone in your snog box, you hear?" Clara added in a playful yet serious tone.

"Yes ma'am!" he replied with an exaggerated salute.

Clara smiled and twirled around, her silky dress swirling about her legs, and sauntered towards the door. "Next Wednesday?" She called over her shoulder, ponytail swinging tantalizingly from side to side.

"Well, a – a Wednesday, definitely," he called after her. "Next Wednesday, last Wednesday. One of the Wednesdays." The TARDIS door snapped shut and the Doctor stared longingly after her, contemplating how she could appear so delicate and yet so strong at the same time.

"Impossible girl," he muttered to himself. "A mystery wrapped in an enigma squeezed into a skirt that's just a little bit too – tight." His smile returned as he remembered the feeling of her small body wrapped snugly in his arms, his lips against her sweet-smelling brown hair.

The Doctor froze, realizing what he was thinking. He shook his head to clear it of those incredibly naughty thoughts, wrinkling his nose in disgust at his own brain. "What are you?" He asked sternly. _What are you, you impossibly brave, beautiful girl._

 **A bit of h/c, bit of fluff; this is the first time I've tried to write something like this, so please review! I really appreciated your honest comments from my other chapters (yes that does include pointing out typos, grammar mistakes ect. since you did it so nicely. If you've noticed them, so have other people and I want to be able to fix that.)**


	6. Name of the Doctor

**Thank you all for the amazingly wonderful reviews! I appreciate your kind words so much! This story takes place after Name of the Doctor; I tried to do something a teeny bit different than the majority of post-episode stories out there since there are so many. Please let me know what you think!**

 **Summary: Clara wakes up after on the TARDIS after the Doctor pulls her from his timeline and needs some comforting.**

The Name of the Doctor

Everything hurt. Her entire body ached as though she had thrown herself down an infinite flight of stairs. She was pretty sure she was covered in purple welts and abrasions. But those bruised muscles paled in comparison to the pounding jackhammers inside her head that were attempting to shatter her skull. She had never had a more intense headache.

Clara tried to open her eyes but the dim light that greeted her almost made her vomit. She moaned pitifully and squeezed them shut again. She managed to extract her heavy arm from beneath the blankets and let it flop over her face. She didn't know where she was, didn't know _who_ she was. But trying to remember, trying to think at all, made the impossibly horrible headache even worse. It felt as though the world was spinning around her, her numb body tumbling down and down.

Clara curled up on her side, gripping her head in shaking hands, and sobbed.

* * *

The Doctor had only left his companion's side once since they had returned to the TARDIS. He had spent hours sitting by her bed absent mindedly stroking her hair as she mumbled discontentedly in her sleep. But he couldn't stand to wait around for one more second; he had to _do_ something. So the Doctor had decided to boil some water for tea, hoping that a warm drink would help Clara calm down when she awoke.

He had just removed the kettle when a strangled sob echoed down the hall. The Doctor's hearts dropped into his stomach as he whirled around and dashed down the corridor, abandoning all thoughts of tea. He flung himself into Clara's room breathlessly; the sight that greeted him made him freeze in the doorway.

Clara was curled on her side, hands desperately clutching her head as if trying to keep it from exploding. Tears streamed from her tightly closed eyes; the pillow was already stained a darker shade of purple. She had woken up and he hadn't been there. The Doctor hurried over to Clara's side, guilt flooding through him. He sat down on the edge of the bed, wormed his arm under her body, and lifted her towards his lap.

Clara jerked backwards with a surprised squeal as soon as her upper body left the mattress. Her eyes flew open and – for a few seconds – they were filled with fear. The Doctor had never seen such pure, unadulterated terror reflected in those soft brown orbs. He felt as though a ball of needles had just exploded inside of him, piercing his hearts. She was afraid and in pain because of him. Because she had saved him; she had been willing to die for him. She _had_ died for him.

The Doctor held up his hands, showing the frightened young woman that he wouldn't hurt her. "Clara, my Clara," he whispered. "My beautifully impossible girl. You're safe."

Clara's eyes widened at his words. Some of the fear melted away, replaced by a sort of cautious hopefulness. "Doctor?" she rasped in disbelief.

"Yes!" he cried with relief. Clara jumped at the sudden change in volume. "Yes," he repeated quietly. "You're okay Clara. Yes you are. You're safe, I promise."

"Doctor," She sobbed, tipping forwards into his arms. She gripped his shirt as tightly as her shaking hands could, like he was the only thing anchoring her to this moment in time. The Doctor responded by pulling her fully into his lap and wrapping himself around her in a protective cocoon. He alternated between rubbing slow circles on her back and smoothing his fingers through her hair until she ran out of tears and simple trembled against his chest.

The Doctor bent over, placing a soft kiss on the top of Clara's head. "Clara, my impossible girl," he murmured, "I am so sorry."

Clara struggled to extricate herself from him for a moment before managing to push away and prop herself up against the headboard. This small task was evidently very tiring; her breathing had sped up into uneven heaves again. The Doctor leaned forward to pull her back but she put a hand against his chest to stop him. "Doctor, you listen to me." She said firmly. "I don't regret it. Not for one second. So don't you dare feel guilty. I chose to jump into your time stream. You never asked me to put myself in danger. I chose to stay with you."

The Doctor looked down at the bed, unable to hide the emotions plainly dancing across his face. Guilt that she was hurting, certainly, but also shame that she was now comforting him and anger with himself for being unable to protect her and her echoes.

He looked up again when she slid her hand against his cheek. She smiled at him; the expression was full of unguarded compassion and admiration. "I'd do it all again Doctor," she said. "Because you're still here. And so am I." He nodded wearily, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. It was true. And as long as there was still breath in this body, he knew that no one would put a finger on her again. His arms rose to encircle her once more. But this embrace wasn't desperate. The pair didn't cling to each other as if frightened they would float away. The hug was tender and comforting and warm.

Clara lay her head on The Doctor's shoulder. He felt her hot breaths against his bare neck gradually slow and even out. He gently guided her body back into bed and tucked the thick fuzzy blanket up to her chin. Clara sighed contentedly.

The Doctor finally allowed the barest hint of a smile to ghost his pale lips as he watched her sleep. He leaned down and kissed her forehead lovingly. "Sweet dreams, my impossible girl."

 **Thank you for reading! As always, thoughts, constructive criticisms, and suggestions for future chapters are welcomed and greatly appreciated. Also, I have another scene in mind that could take place after this where the Doctor takes care of Clara's physical injuries. Would you like to read that, or would you prefer me to move on to Day/Time of the Doctor and season 8?**


	7. Day of the Doctor

**So I started working on a part two to the Name of the Doctor, but it wasn't turning out like I wanted. I still may finfish that one later though. I hope you like this one; there was so many things that could be done with this episode so please let me know what you think!**

 **Summary: The Doctor is still plagued with memories and guilt from the Time War so Clara comforts him**

Day of the Doctor

Clara rubbed her eyes blearily and growled. For some reason, the TARDIS had decided that she needed to be woken up at 2 in the morning. The bloody machine had flicked on all of the lights to strobe-level brightness and started playing what sounded like a rock version of Beethoven's fifth symphony. She threw a discarded slipper in the general direction of the light switch. "Shut UP you bloody blue box!" She moaned.

The TARDIS, as usual, completely ignored Clara's demand and went right on blasting the music. After a few minutes, during which Clara alternated shouting threats and whining desperate pleas, she gave up and went stumbling out the door to look for the Doctor, grumbling under her breath.

Clara had been shuffling around the endless dimly lit corridors for what felt like years when the sound of shattering glass jerked her out of her sleepy daze. A muffled, wordless yell followed; it was definitely the Doctor's voice but the sorrowful rage was so un-Doctor-like. All thoughts of the TARDIS dissolved, replaced by concern. Clara picked up her pace and followed the distressed sounds into the main control room.

The Doctor was leaning against the silver railing, head grasped in his hands. Clara saw the remains of a glass strewn about the floor in puddles of sticky purple liquid. She climbed up the stairs hesitantly, approaching her friend with caution. "Doctor?" she asked softly.

The Doctor looked up and Clara was shocked to see the tears in his reddened eyes. A streak of blood stained the left side of his ghostly face. He shook his head slightly and tried to smile reassuringly at her. "Sorry, dropped my grape juice," he said, clearly attempting to sound nonchalant. "Go back to bed Clara."

"You think I'll fall for that one Doctor?" Clara asked. She closed the distance between them and gazed up into his face with concern. "What is it?"

"Nothing you should worry about," he answered firmly. "I can take care of myself."

"Nope, nice try," she replied. She grasped his left hand in hers, surprised to feel something warm and sticky coating his skin. She turned his hand over to discover a long jagged slice through the middle of his palm. "Clearly, you aren't quite capable of that at the moment."

The Doctor pulled his hand away from her and turned so that he was facing the railing again. "I'm fine Clara," he insisted. "You worry too much."

"Doctor, please let me help," she said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"NO!" he burst out. "That's not your job. I look out for you. That's how this works. I can handle things myself. You don't have to control everything all the time."

Clara withdrew her hand quickly. She knew he was just trying to get her to leave, but the words still stung. He obviously wasn't going to give in, so she would just have to take charge and deal with his harsh comment later. "Let's get this gaping wound fixed, shall we?" Without waiting for a reply, Clara snagged the sonic screwdriver from the console, grasped his arm firmly, and led him up the stair to the now all-to-familiar infirmary.

The Doctor numbly sat down on a bed at Clara's instruction, clearly deciding that this was a battle of stubbornness he couldn't possibly win. A few moments later, Clara returned with a wet cloth and his sonic in hand. He accepted the sonic silently, mending the broken skin with a few deft movements. Clara preceded to clean the dried blood from his hand and face gently. Her cool hands against his clammy skin grounded him; the screams and explosions that had plagued him since the beginning of this adventure slowly receded from his thoughts.

Once Clara had finished wiping the blood off her disturbingly docile Doctor, she tossed the bloodied cloth in the general direction of the counter and hopped up on the bed next to him. "What happened?" she asked, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The Doctor looked away – refusing to meet her eyes – before speaking. "I can still hear them. They're still in my head, even though I didn't actually kill them. I still remember killing them all."

"That must be horrible, Doctor," Clara validated him, "but you didn't hurt them. You know that now."

"You think that matters?" The Doctor yelled, jumping to his feet and stepping away from Clara. "You have no idea what it's like. I lived with that guilt for so long, it's not just going to go away! I _remember_ it all."

"You're right Doctor," Clara said calmingly. "Seeing that other you must have reminded you of everything. You've been running away from your past for so long. And you don't have to anymore. You saved your planet, and we'll find it together."

"But-"

"No. You're allowed to feel sad and you're allowed to feel angry. But you're not allowed to feel guilty anymore. You never stopped being the Doctor. And I'll remind you of that every single day if I have to. So don't you _dare_ feel guilty because you saved them all. You save entire planets every day!" Clara slid off the bed gracefully and marched strait up to the distressed Time Lord. "Remember, I'm your impossible girl. I've seen all your faces and I know you're a good person. A Doctor, _The_ Doctor."

The Doctor look down at her. There was no anger or blame written across her beautiful face. All he saw reflected in her soft brown eyes was compassion and concern. He reached down to cup her face with his newly healed hand. "Clara Oswin Oswald. What would I do without you?" he asked softly.

"Probably get yourself blown up or sulk around all day in your snog box," Clara replied with a small smirk. "But you never have to find out. I'm not going anywhere."

The Doctor nodded, getting lost in her wide brown eyes. It was amazing how much energy and confidence was jammed into such a small person. Impossible really, but she was his impossible girl. "What are you doing out of bed anyway?" he asked.

"Oh. Your bloody TARDIS woke me up. Again. Though this time, she wasn't just torturing me for sport. Someone had to come knock some sense into you."

"You should get back," he instructed. "I'll make sure she doesn't disturb you again."

"Naw, I'm up now. Let's go somewhere exciting," Clara suggested. "Just not too exciting. I've had enough running for now."

The Doctor descended the stairs, some of his usual buoyancy returning. "One moderately exciting adventure coming up!" he declared.

Clara smiled in relief as he fiddled with the controls. "Geronimo?"

He looked up at her with a genuine smile in return as he pulled the final lever. "Geronimo!"

 **Please let me know what you think! Your comments are super motivating and wonderful. Follows and favorites are also greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading!**


	8. Deep Breath

**Just a quick WARNING that this one is a teensy bit more violent than the other chapters. It involves Clara getting burned by the robot-human hybrid guy. Also, most of the dialogue is directly from the episode itself and is not mine.**

 **Summary: The Doctor does not arrive in time to stop the "rubbish robot from the dawn of time" hurting Clara for** **information**

Deep Breath

"Humans feel pain," the robot-man said coolly.

Clara clenched her hands into fists around her wide skirt to hide the shaking. She could do this. She could talk him out of this; all she had to do was stall until the Doctor could get there. Unless he had left her here to fend for herself. She knew that the Doctor would never do that to her. But she was also afraid that this awkward, rough old man was no longer the Doctor. For the moment, Clara decided, she would have to cling to the hope that he was still there. Somewhere. She faked a confident smile and shook her head. "Bigger threat to smaller threat," she chastised. "See what I mean? Backwards."

"The information can be extracted by means of your suffering," he stated. Clearly, he was not to be distracted from the task at hand.

Clara pressed her lips together, fighting to keep the tears at bay. "Are- are you trying to scare me?" she stuttered. "Oh cuz I'm already bloody terrified of dyin'. And I am willing to endure a lot of pain before I give up the information that's keepin' me alive." The more she continued to talk the more in control she felt. She was able to blink her eyes clear of the moisture that had begun to gather before continuing. "How long have you got?"

The man paused to think for a few minutes. Clara could literally hear the cogs turning inside his brain. He pulled himself to his feet and towered over her. Clara continued to stare him down but her confidence was fading fast. Her entire body was trembling now and her head – which had been pounding ever since she regained conciseness – began to ache more than ever. Still, if she stalled for just a few more minutes, he would come. Maybe.

"All you can do is offer me my life," she told him. "What you can't do is threaten it. You can _negotiate-_ " She was cut off when the man removed his right hand and placed in on his shoulder. "Okay. Okay okay okay," She tried to back away but found that two of the man's hench-robots had come forwards. Each one gripped one of her arms firmly and held her still as their master continued to approach. "Yes. Yes, yes I am crying and it's just because I am _very_ frightened of you. If you know anything about human beings that means you, you are in a lot of trouble." One of the robot-things holding her pulled her dress sleeve up to her elbow with a rough tug.

Clara knew that her voice was shaking. The tears she had fought so hard to keep hidden began to trickle down her cheeks. She was frightened of the impending pain, of course. But she was terrified – for the first time since the Doctor swept her away in his magical blue box – that she was alone. A metallic grinding reverberated through the circular chamber and what appeared to be a sort of welding torch shot out of the man's sleeve. "We do not negotiate", he said calmly. He took one final step forwards and pressed the flame into the smooth skin on Clara's exposed forearm.

Clara let out a strangled cry. The pain was instantaneous; its sickening heat spread out from the point of contact and shot all the way up her arm. He removed the flame after a few seconds but the intense pain remained. She abandoned all pretenses of being confident and brave, allowing her tears to flow freely. Her tormentor remained unaffected by this display of emotion. He simply looked down at her unblinkingly and repeated his question. "Where is the other one?"

Clara bit her lip and violently shook her head; she was afraid that she would vomit if she opened her mouth. He looked down with jerky movements and brought the flame to her arm again. Clara cried out. This time it hurt more and he waited longer before pulling back. She gasped for breath in desperate heaves, shaking more violently than ever.

"Where is the other one?"

"Tell you what," she stuttered. "I'll answer your questions if you answer mine."

"We will not answer questions," he stated. Clara noted with relief, however, that he had taken a step back and shut off the flame.

"We'll take turns," Clara continued. "I'll go first. Why'd you kill the dinosaur?"

"We will not answer questions."

"Why'd you kill the dinosaur?"

"We will NOT answer questions!"

"Then you might as well kill me, 'cuz I'm not talking again 'til you do," Clara told him. She was pleased to note that she managed to keep the fear sending tremors though her body out of her voice. She turned her head to the side, bracing for another onslaught of pain.

It never came. Instead, the mechanical man stood still, gears turning in his head, before he answered. "Within the optic nerve of the dinosaur is material of use to our computer systems."

Clara turned to look at him, surprised that he had actually complied with her demand. She crinkled her brow and stared at him. Something about that statement was off. "You burned a whole dinosaur for a spare part," she said, thinking out loud. "No. No, hang on. You know what's in a dinosaur's optic nerve which means you've seen them before." She stepped forward slightly, curiosity and the thrill of uncovering this new piece of information temporarily overriding her fear and pain.

"Where is the other one?" He insisted.

"How long have you been rebuilding yourselves? Look at the state of you. Is there any real you left? What's the point?" Now there was an interesting philosophical question she would love to pose to her English class.

"We will reach the promise land," The man told her after another brief pause.

"The, the what? The promise land, what's that?" She inquired.

"Where is the other one?" was his only reply. The firmness of his voice indicated that he was done playing games. Clara could only hope that she had stalled for enough time, and that the Doctor was still the Doctor; that he would always have her back.

"I don't know," Clara whispered honestly.

The man lumbered towards her and relit the flame. Clara stumbled back, terror returning in full force, but found her arms held captive once again. He stopped, inches from her face, and raised his arm threateningly. Clara let go of her last shred of dignity and screamed. "DOCTOR!" She closed her eyes, hoping, _praying_ for him to show up.

Suddenly the flame was gone; her arms were released and Clara fell to the ground, inhaling raggedly. She clutched her injured arm to her chest and looked up to see the new Doctor with his sonic screwdriver pointed menacingly just centimeters from the leader's face. His attack-eyebrows drew together into a single, threatening line before he turned away to address the whole room.

"Hello, hello rubbish robots from the dawn of time!" the Doctor proclaimed. "Thank you for all the gratuitous information." He darted over towards Clara, and gestured proudly at her with his sonic. "Five foot one and crying. You never stood a chance."

"Where were you?" Clara demanded angrily. Her throbbing arm was a painful reminder that she had not gotten out of this unscathed.

"Yes, sorry about that. Took some time to reactivate the door" the Doctor replied. "Actually, no, I'm not. You're brilliant under pressure."

Clara couldn't quite read his expression, but she thought she detected a trace of pride in his tone. She _had_ been quite brilliant, she supposed. And he had come for her.

Clara stood, watching the Doctor dance about the room. Here, where he was facing dinosaur exploding robots and delivering grand speeches, he finally looked like the Doctor again. She just stood on the sidelines, sweating and shaking, and let him do his thing. If only he could still be the Doctor when it was just them too, she reflected wistfully.

* * *

The adventure was over. London had been saved, the mechanical men defeated, and Clara had just gotten the chance to say goodbye to her Doctor. She sniffed as she hung up her cell, rubbing her nose in irritation. The movement of her arm cause her sweater to chafe painfully against the circular burns. She hissed softly, hoping the current Doctor would remain oblivious.

"Well?" She glanced up to see the Doctor standing a few feet away, looking imploringly at her with his eyebrows drawn.

Clara took a moment to rub her nose again and carefully straiten the arm of her sweater before turning to look at him. "Well what?" she demanded.

"He ask you a question. Will you help me?"

"You shouldn't've been listening," Clara accused.

"I wasn't, I didn't need to. That was me talking," he told her sadly. Clara just stared for a moment until the Doctor gave an uncomfortable exhale and turned away. "You can't see me can you. You look at me, you, you can't see me." It wasn't a question. "Do you have any idea what it's like? I'm not on the phone, I'm right here! Standing in front of you. Please just- just see me."

Clara felt as though her heart had descended to somewhere around her navel. She walked forward, intently gazing into the Doctor's new, lined face. She studied his stern mouth, grey curly hair, and crooked nose for a moment, remembering the look of fury when he pulled her away from the torturous flame. This new abrasive Doctor would take some getting used to, but she had seen him in those moments. And she could see him now, in his sad pleading eyes.

She smiled reassuringly at him. "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked hesitantly.

"Phonin'" Clara explained before throwing her arms around him with a happy sigh. His boney shoulders and spine were cold and unfamiliar and he didn't return the gesture at all. At least he couldn't see her wince in pain when he shifted against the burns.

"I, I don't think that, that I'm a hugging person now," he stuttered against her hair.

"I don't think you get a vote," she informed him.

"Whatever you say," he consented, waiting a few moments before pulling way. Then, in one fluid movement, he grasp her arm firmly and swept up her sleeve with a smooth flourish. "Now will you let me fix this?"

Clara looked up at the Doctor, expecting to see some sort of accusation. Perhaps a confirmation that she was just a pudding brained human girl who couldn't get herself out of harm's way in time. Instead, Clara saw the barest twinkle of concern in his guarded expression as he carefully cradled her forearm. She nodded wearily and allowed herself to be steered into the TARDIS. "Then will you take me home? Or at least my neighborhood. Or city."

"Yes. Sorry about that. I missed."

Clara rolled her eyes. Unfortunately, some things would always stay the same.

 **Sorry for the length; I didn't want to detract from Clara's accomplishment and turn her into a damsel in distress. I know that we don't get to see the Doctor taking care of Clara in this one; I wanted to stay true to their relationship, but I promise there will be more wumping later. Please review or give me any ideas/suggestions you have!**

 **Thank you for reading.  
**


	9. Flatline

**I'm sorry for the long gap in updates; finals and holiday things have been kept me busy. I have a lot going on over this next week, but then I'll have plenty of free time to write more.**

 **This fic is based on a prompt posted by** **strikingtwelve** **.**

 **Summary: Clara gets injured jumping from the train and the Doctor looks after her**

Flatline

Clara leaned carefully against the silver railing with a soft groan. She had definitely done something when she vaulted off the moving train. Her entire body throbbed and there was a sharp pain in her chest; every time she inhaled it felt like someone was stabbing a small blade between her ribs. She was surprised she had managed to stay on her feet for so long, but the adrenalin had masked the seriousness of her injuries. Now Riggsy and everyone else had gone home and there was nothing to distract her anymore.

"Well?" the Doctor's voice cut through Clara's muddled thoughts.

She looked up at her friend guiltily. "Sorry, what?" she asked in an overly innocent tone.

"Do you need your ears checked?" he retorted. "You can't be that old yet, though I can never tell with you pudding brains. I said next Wednesday."

"Oh, yeah, o'course." Clara replied. "Yeah, next Wednesday. Good." She smiled faintly and took a step towards the door but froze with a hiss of pain.

The Doctor looked over at his tense companion with a slight frown. "Clara what are you doing over there anyway?" he asked gruffly. "Your walk is different. Did you break one of your silly healed shoes again? I told you not to wear those things when we go out, they're no good for running."

Clara half-turned back towards him. "No Doctor. I'm fine."

"Don't be ridiculous," he chided. "You can't even walk like a normal person. What did you do?"

"It's nothing, really," she answered. "Just pulled a muscle or something when I jumped from the train."

"Well what did you do a stupid thing like that for?" the Doctor asked exasperatedly, coming over to join Clara at the entrance to the TARDIS.

Clara winced again before replying. "We had to use it to stop the Boneless," she explained. "It was either jump or crash into the wall. You would've done it."

"Never do something just because I would," he reprimanded. "You're more breakable than me." He pulled out his screwdriver with a flourish and pointed it at his companion. It whirred for a few seconds before he glanced at the reading. "Excellent job. You've managed to fracture three of your ribs at once. Well done."

"Sorry," she said meekly. She had done so well being the Doctor; he had even said so (while he thought he was dying but it still counted.) But here was another reminder that she was the small breakable pudding brain and he was the omnipotent two-hearted alien. "I'll just go lie down for a bit and-"

"Don't be even more ridiculous," the Doctor interrupted. "It will take you weeks to heel like that. There's too many things to do! I'll speed up the process a bit first." He uncharacteristically put a sturdy hand under her elbow and gently guided her to the TARDIS infirmary.

Clara hesitated for moment when she reached the infirmary bed and looked up at the Doctor uncertainly. She didn't know if she could manage to hop up on her own. The Doctor seemed to understand her preoccupation and walked over with a sigh. He looped a boney arm around her waist and boosted her up onto the table. Clara bit her lip to hold in the gasp that threatened to escape as her friend left to gather supplies without another word.

The Doctor returned a moment later and lay a cool and against Clara's injured side. She hissed and shuddered as the unexpected pressure sent an explosion of pain into her chest. "Quiet you," The Doctor told her, though his voice was much softer than usual. "I just need to make sure everything is in the right place." Clara nodded and clamped her mouth shut determinedly. In order to distract herself, Clara watched the Doctor work. His small watery eyes were obstructed by his bushy eyebrows, which were drawn together in concern. He pressed his lips together as he concentrated.

Finally, after he had finished torturing her, the Doctor fiddled with the settings on his sonic and pointed it at her chest. "This may feel a bit weird," he warned.

"What do you – oh!" Clara's question cut of sharply as a strange warmth trickle across her ribs and down through her stomach. It wasn't unpleasant exactly, though it was certainly uncomfortable. She squirmed a little, trying to alleviate some of the strange sensation.

"Stop wiggling about," The Doctor demanded. "Unless, of course, you'd like your insides to become your outsides." Clara froze instantly, giving the Doctor an uneasy smile.

"You're kidding, yeah?" She asked.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow in response, and Clara decided that she'd better stay still, just in case. He finished his ministrations quickly and handed her a fizzy orange liquid, instructing "drink this."

"What'll it do?" Clara asked.

"Numb the pain," he answered. "Can't have you shuffling around school or PE will do something stupid like try to protect you from me."

Clara nodded and sipped the effervescent drink. It was extremely sweet and the bubbles tickled her nose, but she finished quickly and jumped off the table. Suddenly, everything was spinning rather quickly as if she had had one too many drinks and went on a carnival ride with an overzealous operator. She nearly went sprawling on the ground but the Doctor managed to lunge across the room and stop her decent. She coughed meekly, laying her head against his shoulder in defeat.

"I should have mentioned that it may cause dizziness," He remarked.

"Yeah, maybe," Clara agreed sarcastically. She looked up, noticing that the Doctor's face seemed to be sliding lazily in and out of focus. The lights in the room were dimming as well. "What've you done to the lights?"

"It's also a sedative," he added.

Clara tried to think of a clever reply but her brain must have been going on strike. All she could do was let her heavy eyelids fall shut and hope that the Doctor wouldn't let her fall, despite his dislike of physical contact.

* * *

The Doctor watched as his companion's eyes sluggishly closed and she sagged against his thin frame. He remained crouched on the floor with her awkwardly slumped against him for a few minutes, listening to the slight rattle of her breath deep in her chest. It was so easy to take Clara for granted as they ran across the universe together. But in these rare, quiet moments it all came flooding back: the wonder of finding her for the third time, the deep connection he had felt as he carried her from his time stream, and the way her cleverness and bravery could make his hearts beat just a hair faster – though he would deny that vehemently if anyone asked.

Clara murmured in her sleep and shifted slightly, jerking the Doctor out of his reverie. He shook his head and lifter her easily, carefully exiting the TARDIS, which he had parked in her bedroom. The room was as immaculate as ever; almost nothing had changed since the first time he had been here all those years (and a regeneration) ago. She had added a few mementoes from their adventures, like the arrow Robin Hood had shot into the TARDIS, which was shoved in the bookcase next to _101 Places to See_. He clutched Clara against him with one arm and turned down the blankets on her bed with the other.

Clara's eyebrows furrowed discontentedly at the loss of body heat when the Doctor placed her in bed. He removed her shoes, pulled the blankets up to her shoulders, and stepped back, watching her sleep for a moment. He knew she would wake up in a in the morning almost completely healed and that she would be safe and comfortable here at home until then. Still, part of him felt the need to stay and ensure she was alright.

He shook his head. It was the pudding brain's fault for throwing herself off a moving train in the first place. She should know that pulling ridiculous, dangerous stunts was his job. Even so, he had a duty of care. And she had just been following his example.

The Doctor brushed a non-existent strand of hair off the sleeping woman's forehead. Maybe he'd write her a note or leave a snack. Humans were always hungry after saving the world, for some reason.

* * *

Clara was startled awake by her alarm. She rubbed the back of her hand across her face and smacked the clock without looking. She blinked against the light, realizing that she hadn't closed the shade last night. In fact, she hadn't bothered to get changed either. Then she remembered. She had been the Doctor (and done quite a good job too), but she'd been hurt and the real Doctor had been cross. The weight of disappointment sunk into her stomach like a stone.

Clara rolled over, noticing a total lack of pain with relief, and spotted a yellow sticky-note blocking the red numbers on her digital radio-clock. "WEDNESDAY" was written across it in bold blue lettering. Next to the note, on a small ceramic plate, was a sliced apple and four Jammie Dodgers.

A smile slowly lit up Clara's face. She knew this was the Doctor's way of telling her that he was proud, since the daft old man couldn't manage to say such sentimental things with actual words. They'd have to work on that, she thought as she bit into an apple slice with a satisfying crunch.

 **If I've skipped an episode that you'd like to see, please let me know. Otherwise I'll probably be jumping to the end of season 8 next so we can get to the season 9 goodness sooner. Please let me know what you think, and point out any grammar/spelling things that need to be fixed! Thank you!**


	10. Mummy on the Orient Express

**I know this is going backwards a bit, but** **heintz571** **requested this chapter, and the idea clicked with me so here it is! I hope it meets your expectations.**

 **Summary: The Doctor awkwardly takes care of Clara after she passes out on the train**

Mummy on the Orient Express

The Doctor began to count the seconds silently in his head the moment he heard Clara's body hit the train floor with a soft thud. Based on her species, weight, and the percentage of oxygen left in their compartment, she could survive for another 132 seconds, give or take a few milliseconds. He didn't want to waste his working memory capacity on the precise calculations at the moment. Each time he breathed in the desperately thin air, he was reminded that Clara had one less breath left. And he worked faster.

At 124 seconds, the Doctor triumphantly twisted the final 2 wired together and soniced the teleportation device. The machine let out a high pitched whine as it transported the remaining passengers aboard the awaiting TARDIS. The Doctor could hear their bodies clank against the floors around him but paid little attention. His hands were darting across the control panel in front of him. If he could locate the mysterious "Gus" he could make sure Clara was truly safe from retaliation. And himself of course. And the TARDIS. And the rest of the humans as well, he supposed.

Apparently Gus had other ideas. The Doctor looked up at one of the view screens to see the train rock ominously for a few moments before it belched out a great ball of fire and exploded. He desperately clung to the controls, fighting to keep the TARDIS level as it was flung forcibly away from the train's remains. He managed, for the most part, to keep her under control, though his unconscious passengers did slide a few feet across the metal sheets beneath his feet. Clara's face bumped against his right shoe, and another woman's arm flopped over the edge of the main platform, swinging dangerously into the abyss below.

The Doctor steered the TARDIS a safe distance from the explosion, just in case Gus had any other surprises lying in wait for them, then hastily crouched down to check on his companion. He pressed two fingers against the pale skin on her neck and for a fraction of a second, he feared his estimations had been off. But relief flooded through his veins when he felt her heartbeat, slightly irregular but strong. She shifted slightly on the ground with a soft snort, pressing her check into his hand as if seeking more contact.

He watched Clara's peaceful face for a few moments, marveling at how calm she looked without those enormous eyes boring holes in his skull. She was always commenting on his attack eyebrows, but her eyes could probably blow up a Dalek all on their own if she tried hard enough. Now, however, with those distractions concealed behind closed lids, the Doctor could almost read his companion's expression. She looked relaxed and actually comfortable for the first time since his regeneration. Her expression seemed to melt his calculating, time-to-fight-monsters front and he knew he'd do anything keep that look on her face for as long as possible.

* * *

The Doctor sighed in relief as he closed the TARDIS doors, leaving the rest of his unconscious charges spread out on a few benches and the grass of a local park. Now there was nothing – and no one – left to distract him from the comfortably sleeping Clara Oswald on his control room floor. She had curled up on her side, arms crossed over her chest, and the Doctor realized that she was probably cold in that ridiculously revealing dress. He bent over her, checking to see if she was still fully unconscious, before rushing down the stair and out into one of the TARDIS' many dimly lit corridors.

She seemed to understand what he was after, as she always did, and helpfully rearranged the various scattered bedrooms so that they lined up in the same hallway for him. He darted from room to room, pulling blankets from the ends of beds and the backs of armchairs until they were piled high in his arms, almost obstructing his view. He marched back down the corridor and into the control room where Clara was still sleeping. When he approached, he noticed that his companion was now shivering slightly, and small bumps had climbed their way up her bare arms.

The Doctor hastily extracted a plaid knitted blanket from the pile and wrapped it snuggly around Clara's shoulders, carefully pulling it strait and draping it across her legs without letting their skin touch. She murmured something under her breath and tucked her nose beneath the woolen warmth. She seemed content enough to lie on the floor, but the hard metal sheets couldn't have been comfortable, so the Doctor effortlessly piloted them to a nearby beach. He quickly dropped the remaining blankets on a group of light grey rocks as padding before returning for Clara.

He watched her peaceful even breathes for a few moments before bracing himself for the inevitable contact and sliding his arms under her shoulders and beneath her knees. Clara shook her head slightly and muttered again, but shifted closer her friend's body heat. The Doctor held his head back, trying to avoid feeling her breath against his face as he carried her out the doors and into the warm sunlight.

He made sure to lay Clara down on the warm rocks as gently as possible despite his strong desire to minimize the amount of time she spent in his arms. He didn't mind the feel of Clara's body against his as much as he did everybody else in the universe, but it still made his shoulders uncomfortably tense and his skin crawl in protest. He knew how much it hurt her to be rejected by him like this, especially after his previous incarnation's habit of hugging – and even kissing – everyone in sight when he got excited. If she had agreed to stay, perhaps he would have been willing to work on that. For her.

Clara's shivers had subsided completely and she had uncurled slightly, turning her face into the warm sunlight. The Doctor watched her for a full minute, trying to memorize that content expression before turning away, looking for something to pass the time until she awoke.

* * *

Something was tickling Clara's nose. She wrinkled it and twisted her head but the sensation continued, so she opened her eyes to investigate. Everything around her was bright. A soft breeze which smelled salty and tangy played with her short hair. Why was she here? The last thing she could remember was being on a train: a space train with a murderous zombie. Confused, Clara pushed against the sandy rocks beneath her and sat up.

The Doctor was standing a few feet in front of her, spinning around and drawing spirals and loops in the sand with a long stick. "Oh hello again. Sleep well?" he said when he noticed she was awake

"Weren't we just on a train?" she asked.

"Oh, that was ages ago," the Doctor answered unhelpfully.

"And?" she prompted.

"And what?" Clara gave him one of her best teacher glares. "Oh," he looked away and resumed his drawing. "And, uh, we got off the train."

Clara rested her elbows on her knees and waited for him to continue. "The teleport worked eventually. Beamed everyone into the TARDIS, no casualties. Just a bevy of sleeping beauties. I tried hacking Gus from the TARDIS, find out who set this all up. He really didn't like that. Set off some fail safe thing, blew up the train."

"Blew up the train?" Clara repeated.

"Blew up the train," he confirmed, spreading his arms for emphasis. "But we got away. I dropped everyone off at the nearest civilized planet, which happened to be here. You seemed happy to sleep so I just left you," he concluded.

Clara had been watching her friend as he spoke. His relaxed posture and quiet tone were unexpected developments. She had been planning to leave behind a harsh, patronizing, egotistical Doctor who only cared about himself and finding the next big mystery to solve, no matter who got in the way. But the man standing in front of her was different. He had saved everyone he could, put himself in danger to save a stranger's life, and wrapped his little human companion in blankets to keep her warm and comfortable. Just when Clara thought she'd figured this new man out he went and did something heroic and chivalrous to mess everything up again.

How could she give up all of time and space _and_ a man like that? She almost wished that he had left her carelessly on the TARDIS floor to wake up alone and cold. It would make leaving so much easier, or even possible at all. His dry sarcasm returned as the conversation continued, but he never lost that awkward yet open body language and almost gentle demeanor. The now impossible decision continued to plague her. What the bloody _hell_ was she going to do?

 **This one ended up a bit fluffier; I hope that's alright. Comments are very much appreciated! The current plan is to do some hurt/comfort stuff around Dark Water/Death in Heaven next – because how could I not – and then we'll see. Also, I've gone through all of the chapters and fixed some grammar things and added summaries for each on. I also changed a phrase in this chapter that some of you found confusing. Thank you for your feedback!**


	11. Forest of the Night

**This is based on a request from kenzcraw.** **I know it's not exactly what you wanted, but this is what I came up with so I hope it's okay.**

 **Summary: The Doctor comes to terms with the fact that he can't save humanity or Clara this time in the middle of the episode.**

Forest of the Night

"Alright come on team!" PE yelled at Clara's 'gifted' children. They flowed around the Doctor excitedly and each found a spot around the edge of his TARDIS. He watched as they pulled at the miraculously thick vines, chattering enthusiastically amongst themselves. Clearly, these small humans couldn't grasp the gravity of the situation; their planet was about to be destroyed and they were swinging around on vines gleefully like that ridiculous ape-man cartoon. He half expected one of them to yell and beat their chest.

The Doctor and Clara joined the children in their efforts, but he was still lost in thought. He was far from excited at the prospect of being trapped in his TARDIS with a bunch of whining kids; there was sure to be a lot of crying and snotty noses when they finally caught on. Still, he could find them all a new home soon enough. Then maybe Clara would move in with him and they could go adventuring full time without her pesky soldier boy interrupting them so often.

"When they're done, you need to get in your box and go," Clara's soft voice interrupted his daydreams.

"We're all going. We're taking the kids," he replied, continuing to pull at the thick vines.

"Go where?" Clara asked. He turned to look into her face in confusion. "What are you going to do with them? Leave them on an asteroid? Put them in a space academy for the gifted and talented? They just want their mum and dads. And they're never gonna stop wanting them." She turned away from him, ponytail swishing against her grey sweater.

The Doctor's hearts sank. She was right, of course she was. He couldn't save these children by taking them away from their parents and their home. Visions of towns named after the Human's great savior dissolved in an instant. But the human race didn't have to die out; he still had his time machine; he could still save _someone_ , just like Donna had insisted on so long ago in Pompeii. He would save Clara, of course, but she wouldn't leave her boyfriend behind. If it meant saving her, and giving the human race a chance to repopulate, he could manage with PE on board as well. He leaned down to whisper in Clara's ear "I can save you and Danny."

But Clara was shaking her head again. "Danny Pink will never leave those kids as long as he is breathing."

The Doctor furrowed his eyebrows in concentration as PE and his team retreated, saying something about another 'selfie'. Fine, he wouldn't be the savior of the humans. But he and Clara could still go on their adventures. She would be upset for a while, but he would help her move past the loss of her world. He had survived on his own, but she wouldn't have to. She would have him.

"I can save you," he tried desperately.

"I don't want you to."

"What, you don't want to live?" the Doctor growled, trying to appear angry to hide his fear.

"Of course I want to live," Clara snapped back. "I just,"

"What?" the Doctor asked, shaking his head.

"Don't make me say it," she begged, remaining as stubborn and uncooperative as ever.

"Say what?" He insisted.

"I don't want to be the last of my kind."

Oh. Of course. She didn't want to be like him, a lonely man in an old box. She didn't think that the two of them together would be enough to make it worth living with the grief. She would die rather than turn into someone like him.

"Then why did you bring us all here?" the Doctor asked, his voice even more gravely than usual from the emotions swelling his throat closed. She had lied; she'd gotten his hopes up and put fantasies of saving the day once again in his head. This must have been what it felt like when those passengers on the Orient Express realized that the Doctor couldn't save them, just as the Mummified soldier appeared to steal their life away: this moment when the false hope melted away and left behind an aching cavity in his chest.

Clara smiled sadly. "Because it was the only way to get you back to the TARDIS. Make you think your saving someone. Well you know what Doctor? This time the human race is saving you," She took out her key and opened TARDIS door, which creaked inwards solemnly. Clara gestured at the opening, just as he had done to her so many times on so many worlds.

He looked into her brown eyes, hoping to see some sign of doubt, any shimmer of uncertainty that showed she could be persuaded to stay with him, to live on. There was none. "Make it worthwhile," she told him. It was a very firm, very final statement that left no room for argument.

"This is my world too," he reminded her, quoting her angry words from their moon debacle at her sincerely. "I walk your earth, I breathe your air."

"And on behalf of this world, you're very welcome," Clara stated. "Now go. Save the next one."

He knew she was right. Somewhere, his logical mind knew that Clara was telling the truth; he couldn't save Earth, and he couldn't doom her to the same sad existence that he had suffered through for hundreds of years. He could either resign himself to die here – for the final time – or he could go on and save other worlds in the name of Clara and Earth.

The Doctor spun suddenly; there was one last thing he needed to do before he abandoned his second home forever. "Maeve!" He called, watching the little girl scamper over, leaves crunching softly beneath her feet. "I'm sorry that I couldn't help you."

"You helped me loads! I thought it was all my fault, I feel much better now," she answered. "Are you going to get rid of the forest?"

"How do you get rid of a flame proof forest Maeve, eh?" Clara asked with false lightness. She brushed pasted the Doctor's shoulder and led the small child towards the group, refusing to glance back at him. The Doctor turned his back on his friend, brushed aside the vines in an angry sweep of his arm, and slammed the door of the TARDIS behind him in one fluid movement. He smashed a few levers into place and his TARDIS disappeared, wheezing a final goodbye to the world he had grown to love too much.

 **So yeah, a bit more angst and bleakness than my other chapters; I hope it's okay. Also, none of the dialogue is mine, since it's all from the episode.**


	12. Dark Water part 1

**Almost all the dialogue here is from the episode and is therefore not mine.**

 **Summary: The Doctor (sort of) comforts Clara after she tries to destroy the TARDIS keys**

Dark Water: Clara

Clara clasped her sweaty hand to her trembling lips as a gasp escaped. The tears that she had been fighting so hard to conceal began to leak from her eyes and trickle down her sticky cheeks. She stared into the bubbling lava behind her at the spot where the final TARDIS key had dissolved until her shaking legs gave out and she sank to her knees. "I'd say I'm sorry but I'd do it again," she sobbed, shaking her head. "I'd do it again." It was getting harder to breath and her chest was unbearably tight.

"What are you doing?" she suddenly demanded, looking up at the ever stoic, motionless Doctor. "Why are you just standing there? Do you understand what I have just done?" She couldn't understand why he wasn't reacting; he should be shouting at her, maybe even grabbing her roughly by her arms and throwing her against the now impenetrable phone box.

"Clara look in your hand," he instructed calmly.

"There's nothing in my hand," she sniffed miserably. "The keys, they're down there. They're gone. There's nothing in my hand!"

"Yes yes. Yes there is. Look," he insisted.

Clara obediently spread her arms and looked down at her right palm. A circular dream patch seemed to materialize out of the smoky air in front of her.

"Did you seriously think that was going to work on me," the Doctor scoffed at her. Clara stood up, shaking, refusing to look up into the Doctor's smug, disapproving face as he continued to reprimand her. "There not sleep patches. They induce a dream state." He walked forward and peeled the patch off her hand. Instantly, the simmering lava and black volcanic rocks vanished, replaced by a steamy TARDIS control room.

She stood, swaying slightly with exhaustion and tried to make her brain catch up with her eyes. "They make you very susceptible," the Doctor continued to lecture, picking up the keys that Clara had meant to destroy. "I allowed the scenario to play out just as you planned. I was curious about how far you would go."

Clara's stomach dropped at his words. Now he knew that she couldn't be trusted, that she would turn on a dime and betray him in desperation. He'd tell her to leave next, and she'd never see him again. "Well now you know," she stated dully.

"Yeah. Now I know," he agreed, leaning next to her on one of the side consoles.

"I love him," she told him bleakly.

In response, the Doctor flicked out his all-purpose omniscient screwdriver and waved it over her trembling body. "Yeah. You're quite the mess of chemicals aren't you," he observed, discarding the sonic carelessly and walking away from her.

Clara could hear him forcibly switching leavers and pounding buttons behind her. "So what now, you and me, what happens now?" she asked, dreading the reply. "Doctor?"

"Go to hell," he demanded.

She could no longer feel her shaking body. Her arms and legs were tingling unpleasantly and everything else was completely numb. Even her vision was blurring slightly, though that may have been the remanence of her tears. She had expected this, of course. It was what she deserved; but it still hurt to hear those three harsh, final words leave her former best friend's mouth. "Fair enough," she consented. "Absolutely fair enough."

Clara shuffled towards the door, head down. This was it. She had lost her boyfriend. She had lost her best mate. There was nothing left. Once she walked through those doors she would no longer be Clara Oswald, the impossible, universe-saving, time-traveling girl. She would just be Clara Oswald, the depressed and lonely school teacher.

But when she reached the doors the Doctor's voice halted her once more. "Clara?" he asked, clearly confused. She turned to face him, eyes shimmering with even more tears. "You asked me what we're going to do. I told you, we're going to hell. Or wherever it is people go when they die, if there is anywhere. Wherever it is we're going to go there and we're going to find Danny. And if it is in any way possible, we're going to bring him home. Almost every culture in the universe has some concept of an afterlife. I've always meant to have a look around, see if I could find one."

Clara stared at him for several long moments, processing what he had just said. Finally she summed up the courage to reply in a high, wavering voice. "You're going to help me?"

"Well why wouldn't I help you," the Doctor answered exasperatedly.

"Because of what I just did! I-"

"You betrayed me," the Doctor supplied. "You betrayed my trust you betrayed our friendship you betrayed everything that I've ever stood for. You let me down!"

"Then why are you helping me?" Clara asked softly.

"Why?" he repeated, walking towards her. "Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?"

All of a sudden, it all became too much. The sorrow of loosing Danny still weighed on her chest like a ball-and-chain wrapped around her heart. But the wash of guilt, horror, shame, and hopeful relief that kept cycling through her in addition to the ever-present grief overloaded her entire system. She practically fell to the floor, legs curling beneath her, sobbing full-force.

Then a hesitant arm was draped lightly over her shoulder and Clara flopped into the Doctor's chest. He grunted in surprise but didn't push her away. She clutched at his velvet coat and let the tears she had been holding back for so long pour out. The Doctor continued to hold her and pat her back, albeit awkwardly, as she cried herself out.

Finally, when she had no tears left and the shivers had almost subsided, she looked up into her friend's concerned face. "Are you finished?" he inquired, though is voice was soft and not accusatory or impatient. Clara nodded. "Good. We have work to do. This is it Clara, one of those moments."

"What moments?"

"The Darkest day. The blackest hour." He pulled her to her feet and set a hand on each of her shoulders. "Chin up. Shoulders back. Let's see what we're made of. You and I." He smiled reassuringly before turning suddenly and darting back to the central console. "And deflate your eyes while you're at it. I don't understand how you can even do that. I need skeptical, clever, critical. I don't need mopey. It puts years on your face."

Clara smiled, genuinely smiled, for the first time since Danny's accident. It was small and tentative, but it was there. The Doctor had managed to do the impossible once again; he relit the fire of passion and adventure in her soul. She shook herself mentally and nodded. "Bring it on."

 **Thoughts? I wanted to make it different than the other interpretations out there and I tried to go heavy on all of the feels so let me know if I succeeded. I'm planning on having the Doctors POV of the same scene soon.**

 **Also, I'm trying to come up with something at the end of Death in Heaven for TVH Bookfan, but I'm not sure what you mean by "weird side effects."** **And I'm brainstorming on request from** **deathcab135** **; you have not been forgotten.**


	13. Dark Water part 2

**Summary: The Dark Water scene from the Doctor's point of view, showing his ineptness at understanding emotions.**

Dark Water: The Doctor

The Doctor watched as the final TARDIS key clanged against the console room floor. He stared in sick fascination – the way he would watch two spaceships slowly collide and explode – as Clara sunk to her knees before him, sobbing pitifully into her hand. She shook her head and gazed into what she believed to be a pool of molten lava, gasping "I'd say I'm sorry but I'd do it again. I'd do it again."

He almost lost his resolve as he watched her fighting to stop her eyes leaking without much success. He hated to see her like this but he had to know what she would do. Clara turned suddenly to face him and yelled "What are you doing? Why are you just standing there? Do you understand what I have just done?"

He wanted to stop all the distraught whimpers and gasps she was making; he wanted to take away everything she was suffering from. But he didn't know how. Instead, he gazed down calmly and instructed "look in your hand."

She continued to shake on the ground. "There's nothing in my hand."

"Clara look in your hand," he insisted. "Clara, Clara look in your hand."

But the stubborn girl just shook her head more vehemently. "The keys, they're down there. They're gone. There's nothing in my hand!"

"Yes, yes, yes there is. Look!"

Finally, Clara looked down and spotted the dream patch that he had stuck on her palm when she tried to drug him. As if that would have worked, stupid girl. "Did you seriously think that that was going to work on me?" Clara stood up and he step towards her. "They're not sleep patches. They induce a dream state." He peeled the patch away and watched as her eyes widened and she struggled to comprehend the truth of their situation.

"They make you very suggestable," he explained, picking up the keys, which were scattered around the floor. "I allowed the scenario to play out just as you planned. I was curious about how far you would go."

"Well, now you know," Clara answered staring forlornly at something on the wall, for some reason.

"Yeah, now I know," The Doctor sighed back. He couldn't figure out what she was doing. A moment ago, she had been ready to destroy the TARDIS itself to get him to listen. And now here he was, silently watching and all she could do was stare at nothing.

"I love him."

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and waved it over Clara's motionless body, hoping that something it found would help him figure out what she was doing – besides moping. He knew that much already. It whirred and beeped, showing him quite the conglomeration of hormones, indicating she had been suffering from insomnia and undernourishment for approximately a week. _Oh Clara_ , he sighed inwardly. _What have you done to yourself?_

But she didn't want a report on her corticotrophin and HGH levels. Instead, he stupidly blurted out "Yeah. You're quite the mess of chemicals aren't you."

Why had he said that? She already knew what she was doing to her own body, she didn't need him to remind her. What she needed was someone to reassure her that everything would be okay, and that it was perfectly acceptable to leak water all over herself after losing someone she loved. She needed a boyish Doctor with no sense of personal space, not him. He frustratedly flung the sonic on the console and began to prepare his TARDIS to navigate via the telepathic circuit.

"So what now?" Clara asked. "So what now, you and me, what happens now? Doctor?"

"Go to hell," The Doctor answered, still distracted by his preparations. It was obvious, wasn't it? If PE was anywhere, they were going to find him. Did she really have to ask?

"Fair enough," She agreed. "Absolutely fair enough."

But then Clara started shambling unsteadily towards the TARDIS door. Where was she going? They hadn't gone anywhere yet; he needed to use her connection to Danny to find him – if he was out there at all. She didn't seriously think that he was kicking her out, just for throwing a temper tantrum.

"Clara?" He inquired. She stopped at the door and turned to face him. ""You asked me what we're going to do. I told you, we're going to hell," He walked around the console to face her properly and continued, "Or wherever it is people go when they die, if there is anywhere. Wherever it is we're going to go there and we're going to find Danny. And if it is in any way possible, we're going to bring him home.

He tried to give a reassuring smile, but she still stood frozen in the doorway, staring blankly at him, so he continued to lecture with some of his usual grandeur. "Almost every culture in the universe has some concept of an afterlife. I've always meant to have a look around, see if I could find one."

"You're going to help me?" Clara asked in surprise.

"Well why wouldn't I help you?"

"Because of what I just did! I-"

But he had heard enough of this nonsense. He knew what she had tried to do, he'd been there. "You betrayed me. You betrayed my trust you betrayed our friendship you betrayed everything that I've ever stood for. You let me down!" He pointed an accusing finger in her direction, hoping that his anger would elicit an outburst from her. Angry was better – and more useful – than mopey.

Instead, Clara stared at him with those impossibly enormous, sad eyes and asked "Then why are you helping me?"

The Doctor couldn't believe it. Did depression make humans particularly dim? Still, he tried to keep his tone level and calm as he answered her query. "Why? Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?"

Apparently, that had been the exact wrong thing to say, because Clara suddenly exploded with a sob and crumpled to the ground in an undignified heap. What was he supposed to do? He had already promised to bring her boyfriend back from the dead, and yet here she was, a sodden puddle on his TARDIS flood. The Doctor decided the only thing for it was to take a leaf out of his previous self's book. He inched toward the crying girl, slowly sat down on the step next to her, and draped his arm around her trembling shoulders.

That must have been the right choice; Clara tipped forward into his chest and clung to his coat as if it was the only thing that could keep her from drowning. The Doctor sighed and rubbed circles between her shoulder blades. He was surprised she could hold so much liquid in her body at one time, especially considering how little she had been eating, according to the sonic's readouts.

Clara's tear ducts eventually dried and she sat up with a wet sniff. "Are you finished?" He asked in relief. Clara nodded, her wet hair sticking to her rosy cheeks. "Good. We have work to do. This is it Clara, one of those moments."

"What moments?" She mumbled back.

"The Darkest day. The blackest hour. "Chin up. Shoulders back. Let's see what we're made of. You and I." He got up, stretched out his protesting legs – he wasn't a mere 500-year-old anymore – and resumed his previous position at the console. "And deflate your eyes while you're at it. I don't understand how you can even do that. I need skeptical, clever, critical. I don't need mopey. It puts years on your face."

Finally, _finally_ Clara managed a miniscule smile. She had clearly cried so hard that it dislodged the adventurous part of her brain from wherever it had been hibernating. "Bring it on."

 _Clara Oswald. Don't you worry, I will fix this. I'd fix anything for you._

 **Please review! I love reviews, especially since spring semester will be starting next week, and I'll be busier. More reviews will help keep me motivated to write. Even if you don't like something, or notice typos, feel free to let me know.**

 **On another note, any HP fans been watching your favorite Snape clips on Youtube and feeling sad, or is it just me?**


	14. Death in Heaven

**Requested by TVH Bookfan**

 **Summary: Clara gets sick after her encounter with the Cybermen and the Doctor looks after her as best as he can.**

* * *

Death in Heaven

Clara stumbled away from Kate and the Doctor, one arm wrapped tightly around her stomach. She had been feeling slightly queasy ever since she entered this accursed graveyard, but the overwhelming concoction of emotions and hormones had kept it mostly hidden until Danny took command of the Cybermen troops and Missy disappeared. Now there was no anger, guilt, or sorrow to obscure her pounding head. She stumbled a few feet further before her shaking legs caved; she fell to her knees and threw up.

The water and stomach acid stung as she heaved, bringing tears to her eyes. Once she had started she couldn't stop. Clara braced one hand against the nearest gravestone and wrapped the other tighter around her middle in an attempt to steady her trembling body. She tried to close her eyes and block everything out but the memory of Danny's tortured face as he begged her to help him made her retch harder. Nothing was coming up any more; there was nothing left in her stomach but her body continued to try and rid itself of the horrors of the day. Each time her muscles clenched her weary body would shudder in protest.

Suddenly, a firm arm wrapped around her back and cool fingers pulled her hair out of her face. Clara heaved one last time before twisting her head, finding her small noes inches from the Doctor's. He didn't say anything, just sat with her, supporting her shaking body in his arms, a grave and pained look on his face. Clara struggled to catch her breath as her friend waited patiently. Finally – once she had enough air in her lungs – Clara managed a single word. "Kate?"

"She'll be fine. Some UNIT soldiers came to pick her up," The Doctor replied. "Are you finished?"

Clara nodded. Her body had finished trying to expel her internal organs, at least for the time being. The Doctor gave her a sad smile and pulled her up. She clutched his arm as the world spun around her and her vision blurred. He pulled her closer to him and led her back to the TARDIS, rubbing his left hand up and down her upper arm reassuringly. His strong, steady body kept her from toppling to the dewy grass beneath their feet as she continued to shake violently. The air around them seemed to have dropped at least 15 degrees. What was wrong with her?

The Doctor let Clara press herself against his chest for balance as he extricated his key – which she had tried to destroy only a few hours ago — and guided her into the TARDIS. She must have looked extremely pitiful, since the ship immediately adjusted the air temperature. Clara sighed as the warmth enveloped her aching body like a cocoon. She barely saw where she was being taken until the Doctor nudged the door to her TARDIS bedroom open and helped her sit on the edge of the queen-sized bed.

He whipped out his sonic screwdriver without the usual flourish and scanned her quickly. Clara looked up expectantly as he consulted the readings. "You're suffering some side-effects from the new upgrade process the Cybermen used. You're also dehydrated, over-tired, and under-nourished. Were you _trying_ to make yourself sick?"

Clara looked down at her trembling hands in shame. "Sorry," She mumbled.

The Doctor sighed exasperatedly. "You need to sleep. Get into some more proper attire. I'll get you something to prevent you splattering digestive fluids all over my floor." She nodded her assent and began marshaling her uncooperative fingers into unbuttoning her coat.

* * *

The Doctor returned seven minutes later with a light yellow concoction in one hand. The sweet liquid would help calm his small companion's stomach enough that she could eat something when she woke up. He swept around the corner to find her door still ajar. He peeked around cautiously to find Clara in the same possession he had left her in, struggling to remove her shoes. Her arms were shaking so badly that this task was nearly impossible.

He felt his own stomach do a somersault at the sight of her pale, tear stained cheeks and deflated eyes. He had never seen Clara so empty. It was like her soul had ascended into the sky and exploded with PE, leaving this sickly shell behind. Slowly, he walked over to the bed, put the glass on the table beside them, and helped his friend slip off her shoes. She looked at him gratefully with a wobbling half-smile. He handed her the glass, which she took and drank without comment.

After taking the last sip, she handed the empty glass back to him. He set it aside and turned to meet her questioning gaze. "Will I be okay?" She asked softly.

"Once you catch up on sleep and eat something, you should be fine," he replied, though he knew that wasn't the real question. Clara wanted to know if she would ever feel whole again, if the spark of life would ever find its way back to her enormous brown eyes. But he didn't have an answer to that, so instead he repeated, "Sleep. Doctor's orders."

Clara nodded compliantly and he helped her maneuver under the thick blankets. When he turned to leave, however, he felt her sweaty hand close around his wrist. "Stay?" she whispered sleepily. Silently, he climbed up next to her and leaned against the dark wooden headboard. She pulled his hand up to her feverish forehead and exhaled at the relief his cool skin brought. He crossed his legs and waited, listening to her breaths slow and even out as she finally allowed her exhausted body to rest.

The Doctor stroked her tangled hair absently. She obviously loved PE and there was no telling if she would ever be the same again. He could whisk her off on more fast-paced adventures, she could even leave school and join him full time aboard the TARDIS, but part of her died with Danny. The only way to fix her, to make her whole again, would be to get him back. He would find a way, even if it meant losing her to soldier-boy forever. He looked down at her relaxed face. If giving her up was the only way to save her, then that's what he'd do.

* * *

 **Thoughts? I'm back from school, and I've got a few weeks before camp starts so I should have time to write more soon. As always, suggestions are welcome. I know there are some requests foe season nine and one for the Robin Hood episode; I'll be working on all of those soon!**


	15. Magician's Apprentice

**Summary: What the Doctor was thinking and feeling as he watched Clara be "murdered" by the Daleks on Skaro**

 **Please note that all the dialog is from the episode.**

* * *

Magician's Apprentice

The Doctor jerks away from the lovely reunion with his dying arch-nemesis when a harsh alarm sounds. "It seems your friends have gone exploring," Davros observes impartially. The Doctor whips around to stare in fascination at the domed view-screen on the wall near him. It's true; Missy has opened the door and stepped out into space. But it clearly isn't space, as she points out to Clara. It's ground; they are on the surface of a planet.

A sickening tingle begins at the back of the Doctor's scull as he slowly pieced together everything that has been going on. Davros calling him back here as a dying wish. How foolish he had been to be lured here. A dull sandy surface begins to materialize around his unsuspecting companion as he watches in horror. His beautiful Clara Oswald has stepped out onto the surface of Skaro and he is trapped in this dark room with the father of all Daleks himself, helpless.

"No!" he gasps, turning back to Davros with wild eyes. "Skaro! You brought me to Skaro!"

"Where does an old man go to die," Davros rasps back. "He goes with his children."

A cold dread has spread thought the Doctor's body. Clara is trapped on the surface of Skaro and he can do nothing about it. He watches the two women and moans quietly when a Dalek whirs up to them and escorts them back into the building.

"Clara," he breathes out before twirling around and pelting himself at the rusty metal door. He pushes at the impenetrable object until his arms shudder and his shoulder bones pop in protest but nothing happens.

"You cannot help her now Doctor," Davros informs him triumphantly.

The Doctor ignores this and desperately pounds on the door. A small part of his brain knows that it's useless, but it is so quiet compared to the panic flooding his system that it he doesn't notice. Clara is out there, surrounded by Daleks and it's his fault. He has to _do_ something.

The Doctor abandons his attempts at breaking down the door and turns on Davros instead, demanding "What are they gonna do, tell me! What!"

"I couldn't say. You know what children are like."

The Doctor is about to shout at Davros, demand he get Clara out of there, but Missy's voice distracts him once again. She had marched to the center of the group. "Don't," the Doctor begs the screen. "Just don't." But Missy continues to challenge the Daleks. He is paralyzed as he watches; he can't even bring himself to take a breath.

"You just need one thing," Missy tells them.

"No. Missy, no," the Doctor whispers, finally figuring out what she's trying to do. But it's too late. He sees Clara twist around to watch the metal killing machines around her. She must be terrified but his brave companion doesn't let it show. He knows she must be calculating her next move, trying to figure out if she could make a run for it. He knows there's no chance in hell. Or on Skaro, as the case may be. When the Daleks decide to end Missy's charade, they will gun Clara down without a second thought. He is about to watch is dearest friend be obliterated and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

In a few seconds it starts. He hears the Daleks beep out "maximum extermination!" as they fire on Missy. She raises her arms gracefully as the blue light engulfs her body. In just the blink of an eye, the only other Time Lord this side of the time lock is gone.

The Doctor can see Clara starting to panic as she spins, eyes jumping around the circle of Daleks. His own terror builds in his chest, all the way into his throat, choking him. His hearts are galloping against his ribs so hard that he's sure they'll leave bruises. He frantically turns to Davros, his only option left. "Please! Please I'm begging you please!" He falls to his knees on the hard concrete floor, clasping his shaking hands together. "Please, please! Please! Save Clara!" He cries.

"I gave the Dalek's life," Davros scoffs. "I do not control them."

The Doctor returns to the screen. The Daleks closest to Clara have begun to slide toward her. She stands on her toes, trembling and swaying, arms stretched out behind her in anticipation of the inevitable.

"Clara," the Doctor moans. He can no longer feel his arms or legs; the numbness is rapidly spiraling up to his hearts. The cold dread encircles them like a deep fog, blocking out everything but Clara's desperate wheezing gasps of fright. "Clara," he repeats. The fog has rolled up into his throat, choking off his voice after he gasps out her name. This time it's a question aimed at Davros. He needs to know what they're waiting for; what will happen next.

"See how they play with her," Davros noted. "See how they toy. They want her to run; they _need_ her to run. Do you feel their need Doctor? Their blood is screaming kill, kill, _kill_. Hunter and prey, held in the ecstasy of crisis. Is this not life at its purest?"

The Doctor's jaw began to tremble during Davros' speech. Clara is just a tiny mouse in this game. The Daleks are feasting on her terror as she realizes that he won't be sweeping in just in the nick of time to save the day once again. This is the one time that she won't be able to run; there will be no escape. He can't watch, but he can't look away either.

Something snaps inside Clara, for she suddenly turns and darts away. It's what the Daleks have been waiting for. "Exterminate!" they proclaim before the blue beam engulfs her small body. She lets out one last agonizing screech before she is gone.

The fog flows into the Doctor's brain. The fear and desperate horror have been masked; the sorrow and guilt will come later. Now there is only a numb, muted anger swirling throughout his shaking body. He turns back to Davros, cold hatred written across his lined face. "Why have I ever let you live?" he asks, each word low and trembling with disgust.

"Compassion, Doctor," Davros croaks back. "It has always been your greatest indulgence. Let this be my final victory. Let me hear you say it just once. Compassion is wrong."

The Doctor knows what Clara would say, what she would want him to do. But it doesn't matter anymore. He doesn't care about principles or morals. Clara Oswald is dead. The hatred and rage boil inside him in a hot cacophony of indescribable pain. He doesn't want to do the right thing. He wants someone to pay for what has happened. Because as long as he has Davros to blame, he doesn't have to face the fact that Clara is truly and utterly gone. And it is truly and utterly his fault.

* * *

 **Next up: The Witch's Familiar. I'll try and make it different from all the fics about this episode already out there. Please tell me what you think! Reviews are very motivating.**


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